


Long Way Around

by toomuchplor



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clark is a minx and Lex probably doesn't actually mind all that much. For scribblinlenore's <a href="http://scribblinlenore.livejournal.com/555521.html">Smallville Nostalgia Challenge</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Way Around

“Hey,” says Clark, and toes out of his sneakers before crawling right onto the sofa and over to where Lex is pretending to read something on his silver-sleek laptop. He collapses there, slumping against Lex’s slender shoulder, releasing a sigh he thinks he’s been holding all day. “School,” he says, and lets his eyelids droop.

“Mm,” says Lex, and scrolls down, not conceding anything to Clark’s presence at his side, not shifting his posture or his expression in the least.

“Do we have any cookies?” asks Clark. “Or milk?”

“Go find out for yourself,” says Lex, and clicks a link.

“Nah,” Clark replies, and burrows in a little closer. Lex smells like mint tea and his expensive moisturizer and faintly of leather. He’s been driving the Porsche today. Much as Clark wants to sit still and drift while Lex finishes up whatever he’s doing, the scent of Lex, his warmth, the firm long line of his upper arm under Clark’s jaw — they all conspire to make Clark’s brain light up in places generally disused during the school day. Clark turns his head a little, mostly to feel the soft cotton of Lex’s sleeve pull against his own light stubble.

Lex types something — an email, Clark thinks. By the flickering line of his jaw, Lex is gradually moving from feigned distraction to real preoccupation, and that just will not do.

Clark sits upright and pulls off his jacket, winging it to the far end of the couch before starting to unbutton his flannel shirt. “S’hot,” he says, before Lex can ask. “I walked here from the farm, I’m all sweaty now.”

“Don’t you have homework?” Lex asks skeptically, but not before he breaks his gaze away from the computer screen and over to where Clark is now wriggling out of his shirt, stripped down to his tee. “Or chores?”

“Done and done,” Clark says, and flashes a winning smile at Lex as he settles back down onto the couch.

Lex makes a neutral humming sound and focuses on his laptop again, types a handful of keystrokes, and then in one abrupt motion puts the computer aside and glares over at Clark. “You’re such an asshole,” he says, trying to sound angry.

“Oh good,” says Clark, “I thought I was going to have to take off my jeans in a minute.”

Lex’s stormy expression breaks into an unwilling smile, though he does his best to hide it by pulling Clark to him, carding strong fingers through Clark’s hair and holding him steady. Lex doesn’t do romance, not really; Lex is not like that, at least not with Clark. There are no gentle warming kisses, no soft suggestive slide of hands, no pretence of seduction; today it’s just the pressure of Lex’s grip on Clark’s hair, firm and serious and pushing Clark downwards in an unmistakeable way.

“Oh, _I’m_ the asshole,” says Clark, but he goes anyway, smiling, getting in the way of Lex’s hands as they try to unzip his fly, Clark’s lips bumping over charcoal wool as he traces the half-hard line of Lex’s cock with his mouth.

For all Lex likes control, Clark thinks, he seems to enjoy having it wrested from him even more. Lex fights Clark when Clark takes too long to get going, growls and thrusts his hips up and mutters _come on, come on_ while thumbing the wet top of Clark’s lower lip. But Clark refuses to be rushed; he takes his time dragging the point of his tongue in a neat line from Lex’s balls to the head of his cock. Clark grips Lex’s hips, holds him still, turns his head away from Lex’s steering hand, and sucks slow wet kisses onto Lex’s shaft, his balls, the insides of his jittering straining thighs. Lex grits out swears and pulls Clark’s hair and doesn’t concede defeat for long minutes even though he knows — he _knows_ — that Clark won’t give in first.

Clark’s got Lex’s cock head sucked snug against his hard palate, his tongue teasing the underside with little flickers, when Lex finally shudders hard and his hand goes lax in Clark’s hair — not coming, not yet, but what Clark suspects is nearly as much of a release for Lex: he is giving in to Clark’s demands, giving himself over into Clark’s will. “Okay,” Lex breathes, and his hard fingers go gentle abruptly, drifting down over the hollow of Clark’s sucking cheek, fond and sweet and trusting. “Yeah, okay.”

That’s when it’s finally okay to get into it, for Clark to let his eyes slide closed and let his mouth go slack and hungry, for him to take Lex in as far as he can and to pull back again, listening to Lex’s soft sighs and appreciative murmurs. Distantly Clark is aware of Lex’s computer chiming, announcing a new message, but Lex doesn’t react in the least.

“Okay,” Clark says, pulling off, sitting up. It takes Lex a minute to blink back to the present moment, and Clark loves the dazed heavy flush on Lex’s face, loves that he put it there. Clark grins at Lex, and Lex gives him a loopy smile back, seemingly unaware of how goofy he looks sitting like that, legs sprawled wide and wet hard cock sticking eagerly out from his open pants. Clark stands up, strips off his jeans, underwear, socks, t-shirt, goes over to the antique Chinese wooden casket on the end table and pulls out lube and a condom, pauses to snap Lex’s laptop firmly shut — and Lex is still sitting in the same position with the same expression, watching Clark move around the room with hungry appreciative eyes. “You want to do it right here?” Clark asks, because last time they were in this room Lex started bitching about Italian upholstery and Clark being hell on furniture.

“Yeah,” says Lex, pulling Clark in with hands on his hips, hands that slide around to cup Clark’s ass and squeeze. “Here, like this,” he says firmly, regaining something of his usual assured manner, and surges forward to suck the tip of Clark’s cock into his mouth.

Clark promptly loses his own control and self-assuredness, feeling his face heat and his mouth fall open into quiet pleading, because there’s the pleasure of making Lex give in to him, and then there’s the stunning hotness that is Lex going down on Clark, all wet tongue and suction and no waiting for anything so minor as Clark’s wishes in the matter. Lex is going to make Clark come, and he’s going to do it in very short order. Clark isn’t sure how or when Lex pries the lube from his grip; he’s only aware that Lex has when suddenly there’s a slick finger slipping into the crack of his ass. Lex pulls off — why, _why_ , Clark thinks, or maybe says, wildly — and smirks up at Clark, his finger still working in and out with neat precision. “Do you want to get onto the couch?” he asks.

“No,” says Clark, because all he wants is back in Lex’s mouth.

“Get on the couch,” Lex revises, and makes use of his free hand to urge Clark down to straddle Lex’s lap, kneeling up so Lex’s mouth is lined up in just the right way. “You were going weak at the knees,” says Lex, not a little smugly.

“I was not,” Clark says, and sways dangerously with light-headedness as Lex goes back to work, bracing himself at the last second with a hand on the wall behind the couch and the steadying maddening anchor of Lex’s finger in his ass.

Lex hums something that’s probably a laugh around Clark’s cock and sucks hard, pulls up and flicks his tongue fast on that spot just under the head, and glides back down to swallow even before Clark knows himself that he’s going to come, and come and come.

If Clark wasn’t actually sweaty from the run to Lex’s place, he is now. He’s sweaty and too warm and his skin is sticking to the cotton of Lex’s shirt and his thighs are chafing against Lex’s pants and Lex is holding him upright with a solid forearm across his back and Lex’s face pressing kisses into the hollow of Clark’s jaw, because _now_ is when Lex is gentle, now when Clark is a puddle of limbs over him, lubed up and stunned from coming and too clumsy-fingered to do anything about Lex’s clothes or even to try.

“Pants,” Clark says, shifting back as far as he can in Lex’s grip, noticing as he goes that Lex still has two fingers inside him. “Come on, they’re too scratchy, Lex,” he says pitifully, and Lex nips at Clark’s jaw before pulling his hand away and obediently tugging his pants down so Clark can rest against skin instead of wool.

“You want me to fuck you?” Lex asks, palming Clark’s sides, his shoulders, his ass.

“Okay,” Clark agrees vaguely, and shifts back on wobbly knees so Lex can put on the condom and slick himself up. It’s easy like this, just after he’s come, easy to sink down and take Lex in, bracing himself on the wall and on Lex’s shoulder, watching the perspiration suddenly pop out on Lex’s brow, watching his pupils blow dark and pleased. Their bodies meet and Lex breathes out hard, and that’s all the inspiration Clark needs to pull himself together and start moving on Lex.

“You,” Lex says, after a minute or so, panting, “you could do this all day, couldn’t you?” His head bobs forward with a gasp and he bites down on Clark’s upper arm, gently but firmly as he groans.

“Young and strong and hale and hearty,” Clark answers cheerfully, and picks up the pace to see if Lex will bite harder because it feels good, that sharp clench of teeth in his skin.

Lex bites harder, then pulls away to groan louder.

“Hey,” Clark warns him playfully, “not yet, old man, I want to finish too.”

“So demanding,” Lex grits out, but reins himself in visibly, blinking sweat out of his eyes and looking down between them to check on the progress of Clark’s reviving cock. “Here,” he says, “this isn’t a good,” and without bothering to finish the thought Lex is hustling Clark up onto his knees again, turning him around so he’s facedown on the couch, ass in the air and gripping the couch’s arm, trying to remember not to break anything because this is the best, this means that Lex is going to —

Lex drapes himself over Clark’s back, cotton shirt dragging, its small hard buttons bumping along Clark’s bowed spine, and Lex pushes in without ceremony, back to demanding and hungry and hurried, but Clark has no complaints, none whatsoever, not with the way Lex fucks him in this position, perfect and hard and deep and confident as hell because he can’t go wrong with the way Clark shouts and shoves back and shakes all over with how good it is. They collide, their skin slaps together, and Lex never seems to worry that Clark can’t take it because Clark can take anything, anything, anything Lex can give him, he’ll take this too-good bright sharp impact of their bodies as long and often as he can.

“Yeah?” Lex is saying in Clark’s ear, and, “Need my hand?” and, “God, your mouth, look at your,” and Clark feels rather than hears something inside the couch arm cracking under his fingers as he holds still and comes onto Italian upholstery. “Okay, okay,” Lex is saying now, nonsensically, hurrying, pressing Clark down between the shoulder blades like Clark has even the faintest idea of moving ever again, Lex shifting back and getting in five, six, seven deep strokes before he cries, “Ha!” and Clark feels Lex coming inside him.

“I wrecked your couch,” Clark says, happily sacked out belly-down with his face on the wobbly couch arm and Lex sprawled over him like a heavy hot blanket.

“Of course you did,” Lex says with feigned weariness, dragging himself up and back very slowly, kissing the path of Clark’s spine as he goes almost as though he doesn’t know he’s doing it. As soon as he’s clear of Clark’s legs, Clark flops over onto his back so he can watch Lex, Lex looking amazingly disheveled for a guy with no hair, sweaty and with his shirt half-off his shoulders and one cufflink missing and the tails of his shirt not quite covering his softening cock as he pulls the condom off.

“Come here,” Clark says, once Lex has deposited the condom on the floor.

Lex stares down at Clark contemplatively, like Clark’s argument lacks persuasiveness.

“Come here,” Clark says again, and trails his fingers through the mess on his belly.

Lex is convinced this time, unsurprisingly, and settles himself on top of Clark, is tolerant and patient and lets Clark kiss the scar on his lip, the spot under his left earlobe, the smooth spot between his brows. Lex isn’t romantic, really, but he doesn’t mind so much when Clark is, at least in the right circumstances. Clark strokes Lex’s back and kisses Lex’s mouth and tangles their ankles together, and Lex stays still for long minutes even as the stickiness between their bellies starts to cool uncomfortably and their bodies grow a little chill, mostly naked in the air conditioned room. “Okay,” Clark says at last, and lets Lex go with a final kiss. “Okay, you can check your email now if you want.”

Lex sits back and straightens his shirt, matter-of-fact. “Maybe I don’t want to,” he says, stern and cool.

“Well,” says Clark, “you’ve got to have something to keep you busy.”

“Maybe you can keep me busy,” Lex says, scooping his fallen cufflink off the floor in a graceful motion, using a handkerchief from his pants to wipe himself clean where he’d been pressed against Clark. “Maybe we could watch a movie.”

Clark folds his arms behind his head and studies Lex. “Can there be cookies?” he bargains.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Lex says, but he can’t hide the start of his smile, even as he flings the handkerchief onto Clark’s belly.

“If there are cookies,” Clark answers soberly, “I guess I could stick around.”

Lex is standing by now, pulling up his pants and zipping them, tucking in his shirt and looking almost back to normal barring the very faint glow high on his cheekbones. He doesn’t answer Clark except to kick his t-shirt and jeans within Clark’s reach, and it seems he’s about to leave the room entirely when suddenly his mouth goes slanted and fond and he grabs Clark’s bare knee, squeezes it, and ducks down to kiss it in an entirely un-Lexian motion. When he stands up, his ears are pink.

“I like you too,” Clark says earnestly, smiling, warmed.

“Good,” says Lex, stuffing his hands in his pockets, frowning out the window, “I was beginning to think you were only hanging around for the blowjobs and cookies.”

“Well,” says Clark equably, “that, and the satellite TV.”

Lex laughs in earnest this time, and Clark beams, because Lex is smiling and shaking his head and for all he’s put himself back together so carefully Clark can still make out the chinks in his armor, can find Lex’s tender places and his laughing places and his patient places and that, Clark thinks, _that’s_ the real Lex.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa, weird to write in this fandom again. I spent part of yesterday watching the first few eps of S1 and all the things I loved about Smallville are still there to love, which is nice. I then strove desperately to find inspiration in my pre-existing Smallville fic and the many half-started fic files on my hard drive and wound up realizing that I don't write that way anymore, for better or for worse. Finally I decided it would be best to focus on the kernel of my SV love, which is of course Clark and Lex, the farmboy and the billionaire, the not-so-innocent and the not-so-corrupt, the sweet and the dark and the playful comingled. I haven't watched SV since the end of S4 and I don't think I'll ever catch up on the six seasons since then but it will always be my first fandom, my first fanfic love, my favorite OTP of them all. ♥, Smallville. I loved you well.


End file.
